We Are Who We Are, Lotteries Are Stupid
by CharmedPhoenix500
Summary: One-shot set after 'Changes' ends. Remy reflects on life. 2nd person POV.


**A/N: **This story is set after the episode _Changes_ ends and it's written in 2nd person POV. There is the slightest of spoilers at the beginning, in case you haven't see the episode yet. I just finished watching _Changes_ and Remy's quote "We are who we are. Lotteries are stupid." really stuck with me for some reason so I cranked out a quick one-shot. Reviews are always greatly appreciated. Enjoy.

**We Are Who We Are. Lotteries Are Stupid.**

You're leaning against the nurse's station outside of your most recent patient's room, watching as he gets reacquainted with his long lost love from high school. You should probably feel happy for the two love birds or proud at being the one who reunited them, but you don't. You don't feel much of anything at the moment. Well, truthfully, you feel a little sad knowing that you will probably never have that kind of love with anyone. House limps up next to you, graciously offering up a bag of chips; you take one and pop it into your mouth. House makes a comment about Cyrus and Jennifer's relationship failing. You assure House that even if Jennifer takes all of Cyrus's money and leaves him, he will always have hope and, therefore, he will always be happy. A wave of envy suddenly comes crashing over you. You envy Cyrus's never ending hope. Hope for the future. Hope that, in the end, everything will come together and he'll be happy with the results.

Later that night, as you're sitting on a barstool, which you claimed as your own long ago, in your favorite bar you can't help but think back to high school. Back to the boy who loved you up until you cheated on him with his own sister. Would the two of you still be together today if you hadn't fucked up? Would you be married? Would you have children? You order another shot, tossing it down your throat as soon as the bartender sets it down in front of you. It's for the best, you reason. If you had stayed with him and, by some miracle, got married and had children they would probably be born with Huntington's. Even if they were born healthy and free of your deadly disease, their life would most likely suck. It would start out happy enough, like most lives. But soon, your disease would begin to take over and you would begin to lash out at them for no reason. Then, soon after that, they would begin praying for you to disappear; not to die necessarily, but to just vanish from their lives, to leave them in peace. Thankfully though, you fucked up those eight or so years ago. You never got married. You never had any children. You never passed on your damned disease.

Three shots later and you're on the small make-shift dance floor, grinding up against a faceless man. His hands are all over you as he whispers something about getting out of here in your ear. The next thing you know you're in a strange apartment, staring up at a pale white ceiling as the faceless man thrusts repeatedly into you. He profess his love for you at the top of his lungs as he comes inside you. He calls you Sarah. It occurs to you then that he doesn't even know your name. But, you don't know his either so it all evens out in your opinion. He rolls off of you, immediately falling asleep with his arm stretched out across your bare stomach. Sighing deeply you shove the arm away. You gather up your clothes which, conveniently, act as a trail of bread crumbs back to front door. Your eyes wander around the unkempt apartment as you slip into your jacket; they come to rest on the small kitchen table which is overflowing with losing lottery tickets. You shake your head, _Lotteries are stupid but I guess he finally managed to get lucky_.

As you wander down the empty sidewalk, thinking about the past week, you come to terms with the fact that people will never change. Cyrus will always be hopeful. House will always be...well House. Faceless Man will always be thinking about Sarah while he sleeps with other women. And you will always view the world with a miserable tint to it. This realization gives you just the slightest feeling of comfort. _We are who we are_. You don't choose to be miserable, you just are; and, despite all your effort, you will always be miserable.


End file.
